Project: Orphan
by Exilo
Summary: Following the devastating defeat to Hellsing, Iscariot begins to look to other means to continue their sacred war. A strand of fur, a splash of blood. That's all it takes to craft their own demons, their own monsters of gods. One shot. Read and review!


**Finally, this is done. After countless rewrites, name changes, reworks, adding four pages, and adapting it into a different universe, I finally have gotten it to a point I'm content with. Content, mind you, not completely happy, but I'm sick of it taking up space on my computer. Hope you like, and please, give reviews with criticisms. It feels like something is still missing.**

_**Project Orphan**_

He woke in a vat of thick, slimy fluid, with a certain tingling beneath his fur that made him itch. He fidgeted, slow at first, but itch rubbed on itch, and his discomfort grew despite the cool juice he was bathed in. He fidgeted more, trying to stop the prickling that just steadily increased. He shook and twisted, but the itching was there, no matter how he contorted his body. In fact all attempts just made it worse. When his foot touched something, a vibrating tap sounded through the water, and he noticed the circular Plexiglas walls that caged him. He stretched his forelegs and touched his barriers, pushed against them with all his might, and they didn't budge. He tried smashing and banging, but his momentum was slowed by the heavy, creamy water, and he only ended up hurting his paws.

A drain opened beneath him and a vortex sucked the thick soup down with a low gurgling slurp. He hung, suspended as the cream sloshed away, the tips of his toes barely scraping the edge of the drain's grate, a harness keeping him suspended. The drain closed before whatever was holding him suspended gave way and he found himself falling, hitting the ground with a low slap of moist fur on metal. He was reminded of the tingle, and he became aware of the dozens of needles poking in his fur. He choked the respirator out of his mouth, hacking until his clumsy paws took hold of it and yanked it out of his throat. Then he began casually playing with the needles, trying to pluck them out. In his skin, they simply prickled. Removing them left a residual burning. But that burn eventually faded, and a moment's pain was preferable to that itching. He whimpered loudly, the pathetic noise echoing in the cramped confines of glass as one by one he was relieved of the tingle. But there was one needle in the center of his back that he couldn't reach. His arms weren't flexible enough nor his fingers dexterous enough, he couldn't crane his neck right to bite it away, and when he tried to dislodge it by rubbing his back against the glass, he only succeeded in burying the needle further. He tried yanking it out by taking hold of the tube that was connected to it, formerly pumping him with a steady stream of clear liquid, but the tube yielded and the needle stayed buried. Now it hurt.

In an attempt to push the pain from his mind, he struggled to the glass, wobbly on his four legs. The thick cream still clung to it, and whipping it away still left a substantial amount of blurry distortion. He shook furiously to free his shaggy fur of most of the heavy cream, and sat down, trying to figure out what to do next. Then, just as suddenly as the drain opened, the glass walls retreated into the ceiling, and a gush of fresh air washed over him.

"Hi there," said a pink, fleshy creature, with blonde hair stretching well past her dainty shoulder and wide, fascinated red eyes looking at him closely. He was upon her, forepaws pinning her down, sharp eyes and keen mind struggling to make sense of her, of him, of anything. He waited for some hostility on her part. For her to strike with a balled fist or bite at his toe. Anything that would warrant an attack so he could end her life. He knew nothing, not where he was, not who or what he was, or who or what this little creature who lay calmly on her back, just looking up at him with those gentle red eyes. He sniffed at her, as if her scent would tell him something important. She giggled as the nostrils flared, her hair slipping inside the pale, pink passageway just beyond the black, outer skin. She sniffed back.

"Can you let me up?" she finally asked.

He stalked off her, circled the room and examined every flashing monitor but could not understand the blinking words meant. Bodies were everywhere, pained looks spread across their features, gaping holes littering their chest and skulls. Others were missing whole pieces of their form: arms or legs or faces.

"B-a-s-s," she asked. "Is that you?"

He glared at her, growling, but she pointed to one of the monitors. "Project: Orphan- Code Name Bass, version two-two-three, serial number: 117624," she read. "Can I just call you Bass? I'm Alto. Well, I think I am. There was a monitor by my computer, and it said 'Project: Orphan- Code Name Alto, version six-nine-eight, serial number: 117623.' So I guess that's me. I'm Alto. B-a-s-s, like the fish, or like the music? You don't look like a fish, so I'm going to call you like the music. Can I call you like the music? Can I? Please."

He stared, baffled at her, finally opening his mouth and saying quickly, "I don't know." He didn't even know he could speak, or how he knew what the words meant.

"Yeah, me too," the pink thing said. "I woke up in a chamber, like you. But I got out, I think. I released you, could you not figure out how to get out yourself?"

"I don't know," he said. A little awkwardly, he sat on his tail and looked down at his body, his four legs instead of the little thing's two. His clumsy paws in place of her dexterous fingers. "What are you?"

"I'm a girl silly."

"Am I a girl?"

"Not with that thing between your legs," she giggled. She walked away a while, to the computer. She was too short to reach the counter, so she pulled a chair over and climbed up. Bass watched her, carefully, closely, as short arms stretched to tap at the keyboard. He stalked to her side and sniffed at her again. She was nude, like him, and there was residual moisture on her skin and in her long hair that confirmed her claim that she had woken in that soupy water too.

"It doesn't say anything about who you are. Who knows, maybe we're brother and sister, or maybe we're both orphans. It doesn't matter. I love you anyway," she said triumphantly. So triumphantly, in fact, that Bass was amazed she didn't put tiny hands on tiny hips, in a victorious fashion. "Oh, you're a werewolf. See, w-e-r-e-w-o-l-f. I'm a vampire I think. That's what my screen said. V-a-m-p-i-r-e."

Then something occurred to him. "You can read?"

She giggled. "Yeah, I guess I can." Her tone lowered, just as quickly. "I can't remember anything, I wouldn't even know my name if I hadn't read it, but I know how to do things. What can you do?"

"I don't know." He blinked, looking at his paws, different than Alto: larger, clawed, covered in creamy fur, the blonde sea broken by bulbous pads of black leather on the inside. "I can't read. And I can barely talk. Why did you release me?"

She shrugged, leaping down, and he was reminded of their difference in size. She was tiny. "It seemed like the thing to do."

"Thank you," he said, nudging her back with his head in what he felt was an affectionate gesture.

"Come one," she said. "Maybe there are more people."

Bass followed her out of the dark room with the tube and the computers and into the hallway that was so bright he was blinded for a full minute. Alto stayed at his side, a dainty hand at a spot on his back that somehow kept him calm. Her fingers sifted through the fur in a hypnotic act. She found the needle he couldn't reach, playing with it before plucking it out. A comfortable shiver washed through his body. He shook again, ridding himself of the clingy soup. Alto backed away, protecting her face from the raining droplets. He started on his way.

"Why do you walk like that?" she asked.

Bass continued his trot on all fours, but realized that Alto walked on her hind legs with her forelegs swinging in tandem.

"Why do you walk like that?" he retorted.

"Well, do you think you could slow down a little?" she asked, breathing a little heavily, tiny chest heaving for air. Even more than the trot, it was the length of his legs that allowed him to cover so much more ground with such ease. He did try to slow down, but it was annoying to move at the same speed as her tiny legs were capable of. At last, he squatted to his belly and let her mount him, settling just past his shoulders. By how she squealed with glee, he couldn't help but wonder if this had been her plan all along, him the steed and her the rider. She took handfuls of fur but it barely registered as a tingle. She was light, her grip was soft, so he didn't mind much. Besides, now he could move as fast as he wanted, and proudly paced down the hallways.

"Where is everyone?" she asked as they turned another corner, and found it barren. Every hallways was awash with the red glow of emergency lights, but there were spots of deeper scarlet splashed every few steps. No bodies though. An arm here, an ear there, but nothing whole. Only the smell. Both were overwhelmed, legs weak, tongue out. It was intoxicating. Bass recovered first and continued, but Alto was wobbly staying on his back. She lay down completely, arms and legs draped at his sides, nose buried at the tip of his spine and back of his neck.

When he heard the distant thunder that he somehow knew to be gunshots, he pressed flat to his belly; Alto slipping off and hiding behind his tail. Far off, there was a war going on, he could hear it, he could smell the fresh blood washing the ground. Slower now, they continued forward to the corner and peeked around. There were things that looked closer to Alto than to Bass, fleshy things with peach skin and hair only on their head. They wore white robes, though given the emergency lights and the blood, they were colored deep, deep red. And the other side, there were monsters. Screaming, shrieking, hissing things. Jaws wide and snapping, oversized teeth laced with blood. Most were nude, save some that had tattered rags or paper gowns to hide their shame.

"Who should we root for?" Alto whispered. There was nervousness in her voice, terror, that Bass was feeling as well. He didn't have an answer, and he just stayed hidden until the fighting ended, one lone white robe screaming and crying but apparently still alive. "Well, we may as well ask him."

The man was stumbling along, using the wall for support, and Bass made sure that Alto was a safe distance away before he moved. He moved quickly and with very little noise, but the man still heard, and turned, screaming. "Stay away from me monster! Spawn of the devil!"

"We're not monsters," Alto said, confused. Bass slowed his pacing, cocking his head, trying to understand why the man was so afraid. "You're hurt mister. We can help you. Do you know where we are?"

"Stay back!" When the man sliced at him, Bass instinctively pounced, but the man lifted his sword, the tip punched through the meat of Bass' right breast. The pain exploded through him. He gave a yelp, falling on to the man. The man brought a knee to Bass's belly and twisted the blade, he screamed and hissed, until Bass smothered his head with a forepaw and leaned down, purely by reflex.

It took the pain a moment to reach him, but Bass howled sharply, stumbling onto his side, the sword protruding from the skin. Smoke wisped up, singeing the fur and flesh. It was agonizing, blinding, and yet his voice kept catching in his throat. He finally managed to scream when Alto's fingers stroked the wound, her panicked chant of, "Oh no, oh no" just as loud as loud as anything else. Tiny hands took the blade's hilt. She screamed as well when her hands began to burn and smoke, but she gritted her teeth hard, yanking it out and tossing it aside in disgust. The blood that was left on the blade sizzled until it burned away clean.

"It hurts!" he cried, eyes watering. He rolled on his back, snapping and crying.

Quickly she ripped the man's cloth, tearing and balling the cloth and pushing it to the werewolf's breast in the hopes of stopping the bleeding. With another stretch of robe, she tied around his shoulder into a make shift bandage. Then she hugged him, tight around the neck to remind him she was there.

When the pain had eased to the point he could remember how to talk, he asked, "How do you know to do that?"

"Don't know, I'm just listening to the little voice in my head. Are you alright? Can you walk?"

He could, but at a very slow pace, stumbling along and favoring his wounded breast.

"I'm sorry," she said, walking beside him now, not riding on his back. She kept a hand at his side, as if should he fall, she would be able to stop the hundreds of pounds of fur and muscle. He would squish her, so he was sure to be extra careful.

"It's not your fault."

"I said you should talk to that man, and you did, and he stabbed you, and I couldn't do anything to help you. I'm sorry," she said again, nearly on the verge of tears. "You're hurt because of me."

He stopped, and nudged her playfully with his head. She nuzzled him back. She scratched behind his ears and even licked him once on the snout, and her sadness left her instantly.

"I just don't understand. What are we? And what's this place? And who the hell are you and why are we even together? And why did that man call you monster? Are we monsters?"

Bass shrugged. His mind was on other things at the moment. He was a little disturbed that he wasn't disturbed as his paws slicked through the ever spreading pools of blood. The floor was slimy and sticky, and Bass moved even slower for fear he would slip. Every hallway was strewn with bodies and limbs. More of the white robes now red robes. More of the nude bodies with the monstrous, over sized jaws. Some little voice in his mind told him this was a sickening sight, but that voice was small.

"These are monsters," she said, pointing to one of the nude bodies. "And these," she said, gesturing to the white robes. "These are monsters too. But what are we?"

Bass didn't care much. "Who's place do you think this is?" he asked.

"The robe people's," she said. "This mark, it's a crucifix I think, it was on the computers."

"Too bad we can't ask them what's going on." One of the moaning humans heaved once before lying still and quiet. But then, he didn't really want to talk to them again.

"Control room," Alto read, pointing to the sign above the doorway as they passed it. "We should check it out."

"We should find a way out."

But Alto had already stepped inside. He caught a nice view of her back, her cute little glide as she disappeared through the door.

There was only one body, one of the white robes. He was sitting in a large arm chair at the desk, reclining back. It took Alto a moment to realize he had shot himself in the head, the gun fallen to his side. Not smoking or hot, so it was a while ago. "Excuse me," she said, as she pushed him out of the chair. Bass waited patiently at her feet. After a while of typing at the computer, she said, "Found his e-mails. Let's see what Mr. White-Dress was up to. You don't think he'll mind, do you?" she giggled.

After clearing her throat loudly, she began to read, "Dear Excellency. Following the devastating defeat to the Hellsing's vampire, I think we should both realize certain steps must be taken. Long have we refused to use demons, instead relying on the might of God to grant us his strength. But the loss of Paladin Anderson weighs heavily on all our souls. He was the greatest amongst us, and he leaves a void that I don't believe will ever be properly filled. More and more I am believing that certain measures must be taken, to ensure that we are not defeated by the godless dogs again.

"Even from that darkest time, the lord has seen fight to grant us a candle to light our way. We managed to procure a strand of fur from the Nazi war-wolf. A sample of blood from the Hellsing's new pet vampire. Make no mistake, I have the upmost faith in Sister Heinkel, but I do not believe she is strong enough to lead the Crusade on her own, to carry that weight on her shoulders."

"What does that mean?" Bass asked. "Who's he talking about?"

But Alto just kept reading. "We have managed to breed demons. Craft their flesh and bone from the strand of fur and splash of blood. We have made our own monsters of God. Beneath monsters in fact, crafted from our will. Nothing real. Just hollow shells. Monsters of God. Monsters, nothing more, that we can send through to hell. I weep every time I see a man or woman rise to fight the demons. These are different, no soul to lose or life to forfeit."

She sat back in the chair. "Monsters?" She looked to him. "We can't be. We're not the same as those things outside. We're not. We can't be. We're real, right?"

"We should go," Bass said. When she didn't move, he leaned up to the chair, nuzzling her gently. She finally climbed down, almost falling but Bass moved so she landed on his back, chest draped over him.

"You're hurt," she said, quickly backing away. Slipping, she fell onto her rump.

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt anymore."

Alto ducked under his arm and examined the makeshift bandage. She chewed at the cloth until it tore, and took care in stroking the now healed breast. Even his fur was dry of blood. She looked at her hand, at the burns that should have been there. "We are monsters," she said.

The mess hall was huge and, more importantly, empty. There weren't even corpses or moaning bodies still clinging to life. Bass barricaded the three doors with overturned tables while Alto disappeared into the back room of a kitchen, emerging a moment with her tiny arms filled with canned rations. She dropped the in the center of the room, inside the fortress of tables and chairs that Bass had thrown together. She opened all the cans she could, passing them to Bass who lapped the contents up and swallowed each tongueful whole.

"This stuff is disgusting," she whined. She cringed, taking up a fingerful and bringing it to her neck. He watched the lump start at her jaw, a sizable bulge move all the way down her neck to her collarbone, then visualized it moving down her bare chest and to her tummy. He imagined it landed a moment before she puked out yellow muck onto the floor. She murmured lowly, stumbling to her feet and hurrying out of their little fortress, vomiting again. "Oh no," she whined, on her hands and knees now. Where all the bile was coming from was a mystery. She had barely tasted the ration, and she just couldn't seem to stop.

"I don't think I can eat this stuff." She held her stomach and lips closed. Then fell over onto her side as if in pain.

Bass pushed his way out of the fortress, taking care not to step in the piles of vomit and sat down beside her, rubbing his nose up and down her back. "What do vampires eat then?"

She paused, thinking. Working through her memories or thoughts or whatever part of her concealed all her knowledge. "What do vampires eat?" he asked again.

"B-blood, I think."

Bass casually brought his forepaw to his jaw and bit down, opening a large gash in the center black leather pad, flexing until he was bleeding nicely.

She crawled back. "No, I-I couldn't."

"Come on, you're hungry aren't you. You got food for me."

"It just seems…monstrous."

"What is monstrous? Who's to judge? Then men in the robes?"

She frowned, looking at the leather pad, slickened with blood. "But its-" She had to admit the scent was alluring, and spoke to some urge deep inside. Finally, she approached, lapping at the crimson, savoring the flavor. She licked again, then backed away, stumbling off to sit in the corner. "No!" she said, putting her head between her knees. "No. No!"

She listened to the scraping of his claws on the floor. When she looked back over her shoulder, the werewolf was gone. She held her stomach, she was so hungry she wanted to cry. He returned a moment later, the tip of a plastic cup clenched tightly between his lips. He sat down beside her, opened his palm again, and held it over the cup. It was annoying, he kept having to re-bite his skin, but eventually he got a nice amount of the cup filled, and passed it towards Alto with his nose. Drinking blood out of a cup must have been less monstrous, because she finally brought it to her lips and drank it down.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She smiled, teeth now coated with a red sheen, and lapped at a splash of crimson on her lips. "Thank you," she said, crawling forward, Bass coming over and sitting beside her, offering his fur as a soft cushion. He bent, wrapping around her, resting his head in her lap, his nose meeting the tip of his tail and giving her a nice little blanket. She hugged him again, kissed him, scratched behind his ear and then lay down, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Somehow, in that endless time, they fell asleep, close and shivering in the low, red emergency lights. However later, they woke to gunshots. Bass woke first, his hearing more keen and he heard the vibrations through the walls. He nudged Alto, licked at her face, until she woke, pushing his muzzle away and complaining about the smell of his breath. Her head fell back down to go back to sleep. Finally he bit her arm gently he tossed her onto his back.

There were three doors to the mess hall, Bass was quick to remove the barricade, and peeking of one of the doorways he saw the men in white robes marching towards them. Any bodies they passed where stabbed or shot, the corpses shriveling then shifting into dust.

"Monster killers," Alto shivered.

Bass went to one of the other doors. Alto gripped his fur tight and squeezed close as he entered the hall and moved into a sprint.

"Monster killers kill monsters," she cried. "Monster killers kill monsters."

A white robe stepped into the hallway, into Bass' path. He swiped at Bass, but the werewolf was ready this time. He nimbly leapt over the shining blade, the residual fear of the burning steel ever present. Massive jaws found the white robe's head and crunched down, keeping his jaws tight until the body stopped its spasm. From his back, Alto squealed with delight. "Monster kills monster killer!"

Alto lead the way, or rather she said left or right or simply kicked him in the side of the corresponding direction. She was much too weak and his fur and skin too thick to do any harm, so he tolerated the steering. And she spoke with such a matter-of-fact way that he took her words, even though he was fairly certain she hadn't the slightest clue what was happening either. Still, they moved slower, carefully from hallway to hallway. Taking every corner, shrinking back when the white robes passed and rushed when they were in the open. They passed some more white robes, some dead or dying and some still alive and hunting, but their focus was on the snarling, snapping monsters. So long as they hid the white robes just passed over them. Once they simply lay down in the vast pool of blood, and were passed over as one of the dead.

The scent of fresh air came to Bass' sensitive nose, and he began a calculated path in that direction. Slipping through the ever extending labyrinth of corridors and rooms. Always being sure that the distant rumble of fighting stayed distant. "It never ends," Alto whined.

"I can smell an end. We're almost there."

The smell of fresh air came a demolished wing of the complex that, Bass assumed, the monster had destroyed in order to escape. Or perhaps the reinforcements of the white robes had used it to enter. Though Bass' first hope was to run out, Alto kicked him hard in both the sides heels, an act he took to mean stop. "Go slow," she whispered into his ear. "If this is all a trap. We're so close, but be careful."

He moved mostly in the shadows, hiding behind rubble or furniture, slinking along, until at last his paws touched the cool soil of the earth. It was night, the moon was full, but the beautiful serenity was lost to Bass as he rushed with all his might, putting miles between himself and that horrible laboratory. Only when he thought it safe did he slow to a stop, and allowed Alto to climb off. She covered arms over bare chest, shivering in the cool air, dancing from foot to foot, but smiled. "Now what?"

"I don't know, I've been making this up as I go along. What's a monster to do in this world?"

Alto hugged him around the shaggy neck. "Who cares?" She climbed onto his back, cuddling close to the warm fur. He looked behind him, to be sure she was on tight before starting off, deeper into the night.


End file.
